


i will unravel if you rip away my best pieces

by grimmauld



Series: camp nano april 2020 [5]
Category: The Perks of Being a Wallflower - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Alcohol and Drug Use, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Film, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Patrick's POV, Secret Relationship, both previous tags are minor, but present, indie film vibes, two unnamed original characters, who are arseholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauld/pseuds/grimmauld
Summary: They had been kissing in secret for almost nine months. It’s 1992, of course they couldn’t be open about it. Especially not in high school. That’d just be like begging to be beaten up.
Relationships: Brad/Patrick (Perks of Being a Wallflower)
Series: camp nano april 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688479
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	i will unravel if you rip away my best pieces

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory ‘what if Brad stood up for Patrick’ fic that turned into what if i rewrite the whole film but from patricks perspective vastly following their relationship but with brad standing up for patrick.
> 
> this was a. Long time coming. this is by no means perfect and i defs want to write a fic focusing more on sam, but for now. i hope you enjoy!! the title is from: role models by AJR
> 
> thank u sm to: celia (tumblr: @deanerys), lennon (@missorgana) and mim (@pineful-pyxels) for beta reading!!

“What do you call your sort of boyfriend when you can’t even kiss him in the daytime? When you can’t talk to him at school, ‘cause his stupid _fucking_ friends would beat you up if you ever even tried. When you can’t take him on real, proper dates to the movies, or the park, or hold his hand, or meet his parents, or do anything even remotely ‘couple like’. When you can’t even really _date_ him?” Patrick asked. 

It wasn’t a question, really, he just needed to stop bottling so much of how he felt up. He felt like he was going to explode sometimes, it was all just so _much_.

They had been kissing in secret for almost nine months. It’s 1992, of course they couldn’t be open about it. Especially not in high school. That’d just be like begging to be beaten up. Patrick sometimes felt like asking for it. Only sometimes, when he was feeling especially weak. The thought was never entertained for long. He couldn’t just think about himself anymore, he had to think about Brad too. It wasn’t fair to Brad. Patrick would never want to hurt him. It wasn’t all shit, things were slowly improving. When Patrick really let himself think—late at night when sleeping felt like a bad idea—Patrick was sure Brad hated him for taking away the comfort of the buzz. At least now he could admit that he loved him sober.

Sam smiled at him sadly, and said nothing. Patrick pressed his forehead into her shoulder, and let out a long, empty breath.

—

It was during moments like the one in shop class that Patrick realised he needed to learn how to shut his mouth. He was just trying to make the freshman less afraid, but instead he got stuck with some god awful nickname, and even less of a will to live. On the bright side, the football game was tonight. He had never cared for football before Brad. He still didn’t really care for it, if he were being honest, but he did like the atmosphere. Being in the crowd, feeling connected, like just for a moment he was _part_ of something. Something special.

Thoughts like that made him feel stupid, though. It was just a high school football game. 

He sat in the stands, watching the field with unyielding focus. It was the one time he could publicly be proud of his boyfriend and still stay safe. Hidden, anonymous. The annoying twins from his English class walked past as he was cheering. The game hadn’t even started yet. Apparently, it was weird of him to be excited.

“Hey, Nothing,” one said. They both laughed, thinking they had really _done_ something.

“Suck it, virginity pledges!” He called after them. It’s whatever. He didn’t care. 

A kid from his shop class walked up to him. He looked nervous, looking around timidly before speaking in a quiet but steady voice.

“Hey, Patrick.”

Patrick smiled at him, “Hey. You’re in my shop class, right? How’s your clock coming along?”

The kid smiled lightly, “My dad’s building it for me.”

Patrick laughed, _of course._ The kid didn’t look like he knew a thing about woodwork.

“Yeah,” he said, jovially, “mine, looks kind of like a boat.”

He was quiet, so Patrick kept talking. “You wanna sit over here, or are you waiting for your friends?”

He looked relieved, “No, I’ll sit if that’s okay.”

Patrick nodded and moved over. They were quiet for a moment, watching the still empty field.

“Hey, thanks for not calling me ‘Nothing’, by the way,” Patrick said eventually, “It’s an _endless_ nightmare, and the worst part is, these assholes actually think they’re being original.”

Brad ran onto the field below, tugging his helmet on. Patrick followed him with his eyes, and smiled to himself when Brad looked up into the stands, looking for him. Patrick grinned down at him when they locked eyes. He never understood how Brad was able to pick him out from such a distance. 

“You, uh, you like football?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, still distracted by Brad, “love it.”

It was a half truth. Patrick really didn’t care for the sport, more the person playing it. He liked being in the stands, surrounded by the overwhelming energy of the spectators. He liked the sticky ground beneath his feet, the taste of the salty snacks that were way too overpriced but he still bought anyway. He loved the way the biting chill of the night melted away as he jumped up to cheer. He loved the static buzz that filled his head as he watched, other people’s conversations bleeding together to form the sweetest white noise. Yeah, it was the atmosphere, and it was Brad that he cared for.

The kid was saying something—about his brother, maybe?—when Sam walked over.

Patrick greeted her, simultaneously shuffling over a bit and pulling the kid with him to make room.

“Question. Could the bathrooms here _be_ more disgusting?” Sam says, her nose wrinkling.

“Yeah, it’s called the men’s room,” Patrick said, half teasing, half grossed out by the thought.

Sam sat down, “Well, I finally got hold of Bob.”

“Party tonight?” Patrick asked, finally tearing his eyes off of the field.

“Nah,” Sam says, shaking her head, “He’s still trying to shag that waitress from the Olive Garden.”

Patrick snorted, “He’s never tossing that salad, if you know what I mean.”

Patrick looks back down just in time to see Brad pushing the offense down the field. He screams and claps along with the crowd. Sam finally looks at the kid.

“Patrick,” she says, “who’s this?”

Patrick looks at her, and then at the kid, “this is…”

He trailed off as he realised he never asked. He tossed a helpless look towards him.

“Uh, Charlie. Kelemeckis.”

_Kelmeckis. Kelmeckis. Oh!_

“Kelmeckis!” He exclaimed, “No shit! Your sister dates ponytail Derek, doesn't she?”

Charlie looked up with wide eyes, “is that what they _call_ him?”

Sam laughed, “Leave ponytail Derek alone. You put this _ass_ in _class_ , Patrick.”

Patrick smiled teasingly, “I try, Sam, I try.”

Sam turned to Charlie, “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Sam.”

She stuck out her hand, multicoloured nail polish glinting under the harsh stadium lights.

Charlie grabbed it and shook. When they released, Sam quickly moved and grabbed some of his nachos.

“So, what's the plan, Sam? You want to go to Mary Elizabeth's house?”

Sam pulls a frustrated face, “we can't. She got caught watering down her parent's brandy with iced tea. Let's just go to Kings.”

Patrick nods and turns to Charlie, “we’re going to Kings after the game, if you wanted to come?”

Charlie nods, but Patrick is back to paying attention to the field. Brad throws the ball, doing some sort of manoeuvre that Patrick thought he should probably know the name of by now. As much as he tried to listen, Brad’s football jargon flew straight over his head. The crowd around him went wild, but no one could have been louder than Patrick.

—

The game was over. Patrick, Sam and Charlie clambered down the steps of the bleachers clumsily. They walked together in the cold night air towards Patrick’s truck.The drive to Kings was short. The diner was already crowded when they entered, but their regular booth was available nonetheless. Sam and Charlie were talking about music, or something, Patrick was sitting quietly, sipping at his coffee. The door opened and Brad entered, flanked by two other football players. The mean ones Patrick knows for certain that Brad doesn’t even like. 

Patrick tuned back in, just in time to hear Charlie pretending to know what Eide’s is.

He shook his head, face screwing up in second hand embarrassment, “not a band, Charlie.”

Sam laughed, goodnaturedly, “it’s an old record store downtown.”

“You know,” Patrick said, “I used to be _popular_. But then Sam managed to get me into actually good music. Watch out, Charlie, she’ll ruin your life forever.”

Charlie smiled, shyly, “that’s okay.”

As he spoke, Brad walked right past, flanked by the two football players. The line backer looked at him, taunting.

“Hey, Nothing.”

Brad flinched, barely noticeable if you weren’t watching his every move. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Let it go! It’s an old joke, it’s over! You aren’t funny!”

Sam laughed as Brad corralled his ‘friends’ away.

Sam asked Charlie about what he wanted to do with his life as Patrick watched Brad walk away. _Hate to see him leave, love to watch him go._

“You could write about us,” Sam was saying. Patrick snorted.

“Yeah. Call it ‘ _Slut and The Falcon’._ Make us solve some crimes.”

They all laughed, Sam and Patrick easily, Charlie nervously. They’d have to work on that, if they did adopt him, so to speak. He was so nervous, all the time. It must’ve been exhausting for him. 

“You guys, um, look happy together. How long have you been boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Sam and Patrick took one look at each other and burst into uncontrolled giggling.

“What?” Charlie says.

“He's my step-brother. My mom finally left my worthless dad and married his nice dad 3 years ago.”

“Sam’s not bitter, though, make no mistake.”

In no time at all, Sam and Patrick were dropping Charlie at his house and driving off.

“Tonight was good, yeah?" Sam said.

Patrick nodded, thinking back to the moment before the game started. Then he remembered the diner.

“I’m sorry about Brad.”

“What for?”

“He shouldn’t let them say shit to you.”

“He didn’t, not really. It’s not his fault they’re assholes.”

“Still.”

“It’s whatever, Sam. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

Sam shook her head, not wanting to start an argument. Patrick stared resolutely at the road, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. It doesn’t matter.

—

It’s not that Patrick wasn’t having a great time at the dance. It was fine. He and Sam were standing by the punch bowl, talking about nothing in particular when the first notes of _Come On, Eileen_ began to play.

“Oh my god, they’re playing good music, Patrick!” Sam said, tapping his arm in excitement.

Patrick grinned, “Holy shit! They are! They’re playing good music!”

He glanced over Sam’s shoulder and saw Brad, chatting idly to a small, blonde haired girl—a cheerleader—smiling at her when she laid her hand on his upper arm, twirling her hair with her other hand. Patrick felt his stomach knot in a series of knots so complicated he’s surprised he was never a boy scout. He tried to force his attention back to Sam through the heartache.

“Living room routine?” He asked. She nodded, repeating what he said with an air of finality.

They pushed through the mass of students until they were in the middle. Then they danced. Their routine was, effectively, a series of fast-paced limbs flying everywhere. The students around them cheered, forgetting momentarily that they were the outcasts, when Patrick lifted Sam and swung her around. He made eye contact with Brad over her head, smiled breathlessly at him, before he looked away.

Charlie awkwardly bopped his way over to them. 

“Hey!” they called out to him.

Patrick unwound his scarf from around his neck and looped it over Charlie’s, seamlessly pulling him into their dance. Charlie smiled gratefully and slowly began to loosen up. The tension bled from his shoulders the more the three of them danced. The other students had begun to filter in around them, the circle they had created easily disintegrating. Sam, Charlie and Patrick danced, their spirits high.

—

The party at Bob’s house raged well into the night, music booming so loud that the windows seemed to rattle. Patrick knew Brad would be here. He had missed him. They hadn’t really had time to hang out recently. As much as Sam hated to admit it, Patrick knew that she and the rest of their little group liked Brad’s company too. He couldn’t spend time with them at school, but he tried to make up for it by hanging out when he could on weekends.

Sam was complaining about the cold, Patrick rolled his eyes at her.

“Just remember Charlie, Bob’s not paranoid-”

“He’s _sensitive,”_ Patrick cut in, mocking.

Sam grinned at him, knocking on the door. Bob answered it within seconds. Charlie looked a bit frightened. He stumbled out, ending up so close to Patrick that he could see the red tinge in his eyes.

“Sam,” Bob pouted, “that waitress from the Olive Garden is such a tease. Will _you_ marry me?”

Sam laughed, “only if I have Patrick’s blessing.”

She walked into the house. Bob looked at him, hopeful but not fully present. Patrick scoffed, pushing Bob lightly.

“You're a hopeless stoner who attends the culinary institute. So, I'm going to have to say _no_ on that one, but nice try. Charlie?”

They walked inside, down the hall to the door leading to the basement stairs.

“Ready?”

Charlie nodded, looking unsure. Patrick grinned at him, hastily and pushed open the door.

The music was even louder downstairs. The smell of weed, cigarettes and cheap beer was noticeable within less than a second. It burned into Patrick’s nose. He just smiled and breathed it in. He loved it here. 

It was packed. A sticky mess of underage drinking, smoking and getting off.

“This,” he said to Charlie, pausing to gesture around the room, “is what fun looks like.”

He looked around the room, smiling when he spotted Mary Elizabeth and Alice, “you ready to meet some desperate women?”

Patrick led him over to where Mary Elizabeth and Alice were sitting on the dark purple, kind of gross, sofa.

“Here, have a seat. Hey, _ladies_ , meet Charlie. Charlie, meet the ladies.”

They each shook his hand. He looked overwhelmed. Patrick leaned over the back of the couch to stage whisper,“this is Charlie’s first party ever, so I expect nice, meaningful, _heartfelt_...blowjobs from the both of you.”

Mary Elizabeth laughed, “You’re such a dick, Patrick.”

Alice just rolled her eyes, pressed her fingers to her mouth in a V and flicked her tongue lecherously with a raised, pointed eyebrow. Patrick grinned back.

“Well, you know how the saying goes; you are what you eat.” He turned to Mary Elizabeth,“And where the hell did you go?” 

“The dance was a little boring, don’t you think?”

Patrick faked hurt, “You are so selfish. We looked everywhere for you. You could have _told_ us.”

“Cry me a river,” she replied, flicking him the bird.

“How is it that you’ve gotten _meaner?_ ” Patrick asked, shaking his head in disbelief, “it’s fucking mind boggling.”

“Mmm, just lucky I guess.”

“Or you’re doing something wrong?”

“Or something _very_ right.”

They laughed, Patrick leaned further over the couch to pull her into a tight hug. Sam called out to them from the other side of the room.

“Hey, look who’s here!”

Patrick looked up, still bent in half hugging Mary Elizabeth. He broke away and headed over to where Brad had just entered. He smiled softly to himself as he navigated through the mass of bodies. He walked past Brad with a meaningful look, and waited in the corner of the room.

Brad nodded, a perfect picture of nonchalance, and went to pour himself a drink. When he finished, he wandered over to where Patrick was waiting, leaning one shoulder against the wall, effectively blocking them off from the rest of the party. Raising the cup to his mouth, he went to take a sip when Patrick swiftly grabbed it from him and stole the sip for himself.

It was too loud for any decent conversation, really, and far too public for any sort of kissing. Brad looked him up and down, eyes flicking from head to toe, before settling on his mouth. It twisted into a smirk, and he dragged his gaze up to meet Patrick’s eyes.

Patrick tilted his head toward the door, inviting him away. Brad smiled. Sometimes, words didn't matter. Patrick cast a cursory glance over his shoulder, catching eyes with Bob. He nodded; Bob nodded back.

Patrick and Brad were one of the worst kept secrets amongst the wallflowers. The ones that mattered, at least. They knew everyone else knew, Brad had worked on being okay with that. They knew no one would talk, anyway. If they did, they wouldn’t have a place in the wallflowers. ‘We protect our own.’ Besides, try as he might, Brad had become intrinsically linked with them. They were something sort of like a family. He may be a jock at school, but he was a wallflower too, like it or not. 

They headed back up the basement stairs, Brad’s hand finding Patrick’s in the low light, further down the hall and into the room behind the first door to the left. Patrick walked blindly in the dark, pulling Brad with him, to switch on the lamp beside the bed. Brad smiled at him, a soft, sweet and private smile only ever shown to Patrick. His eyes were hooded, lust already filtering through his head in a thick cloud. Patrick watched as he glanced at his lips again. He smiled.

“I’ve,” he paused. Patrick nodded encouragingly. Affection was hard for Brad. Years of beatings and fear would do that to a person. “I’ve missed you.”

Patrick smiled again, and leaned in slowly to press a slight, chaste kiss to his lips, his eyes slipped closed. They’re chapped and rough, but they felt like some sort of heaven. Patrick touched their foreheads together, breathing a slow, even sigh.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Brad wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. He stepped forward, until the backs of Patrick’s legs hit the bed. They fell, Brad landing on top of Patrick with a soft thud. Patrick connected their lips again, the kiss turning from sweet and slow, too rough, fast, and desperate. Patrick flipped them over, kneeling, his knees either side of Brad. Brad stretched up to reach him, hands finding purchase in the back of Patrick’s suit jacket. Patrick’s own hands cupped Brad’s face, a soft touch amidst the vigorous kiss. Their tongues twined, warm as they ventured between mouths. Kissing was fundamentally gross, Patrick thought, but he had no plans on stopping.

Brad released a soft moan into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick swirled his hips down, pressing their hips together. They fit like puzzle pieces. If that didn’t mean something from the higher powers, Patrick didn’t know what did. He flicked his tongue further into the hot cavity of Brad’s own mouth. Neither of them heard the door open, too wrapped up in one another.

“Oh-”

Brad wrenched away from Patrick, lust draining and fear colouring his face within seconds. Patrick watched, frozen in his place on top of Brad, as Charlie spun on his heel and left the room as quickly as he entered. He supposed he should be grateful that Brad’s instincts hadn’t been to push him to the ground. Silver linings.

“Charlie-” Patrick forced out, panicked. He climbed off of Brad and stood up to follow him. He’d only just made it to the door when Brad was snapped out of his panicked thoughts.

“Who’s the kid?” Brad asked nervously.

“Relax. Babe, relax. He’s- he’s a friend of mine. Just- stay here. I won’t be too long. He won’t tell. Promise. We’re okay.”

Patrick closed the door behind him. Charlie was pacing on the landing just outside of the door. His head snapped up,

“I didn’t see anything.”

Patrick smiled, still filled with buzzing anxiety, “I know you saw something, but it’s okay.”

Patrick looked around quickly, “Look. Brad doesn’t want anyone to know-” he paused and looked at Charlie, scrutinising, “are you baked?”

He couldn’t believe it. One of the scariest moments of his natural born life and the kid was stoned.

“Like a cake,” Charlie said, half laughing, half nervous, “that’s what Bob said, at least.”

Even after smoking weed he was wound tighter than a two dollar watch.

He said something else, but Patrick wasn’t really listening, “okay, Charlie, listen. I need you to promise that you're not going to say _anything_ to _anyone_ about me and Brad. This has to be our little secret.”

Charlie nodded quickly, “our little secret, yep. Agreed.”

Patrick let out a breath, “thank you. Look, we’ll talk later.”

He made to go back into the room, pausing when Charlie called out another agreement. He huffed out a laugh, disbelieving. He liked the kid. Hoped he stuck around. He shut the door softly. Brad’s head was in his hands.

“It’s okay. Charlie won’t say anything.”

Brad looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears, “you’re sure?”

Patrick nodded, lifting Brad’s chin with a gentle touch, “Charlie’s cool. We’re cool. It’ll all be okay. We should get back to the party, huh?”

Brad nodded. They switched off the lamp and headed back for the basement stairs. Patrick still didn’t know what to do when Brad had a breakdown. He was better at handling them than anyone else by a long shot. Even Sam, with her soft words and gentle affirmations, couldn’t reach into the deep and pull him out. He hated seeing him like that. He hated not knowing what to do. Patrick’s hand found Brad’s this time; he gave it a gentle squeeze, looking at Brad with a light smile before Brad let go.

“I’ll go down a bit after, okay?” Brad said.

Patrick nodded, masking the sadness. He wished they could be normal, sometimes. Together. Open. But unless people got real cool with a lot of things, really fast, they just couldn’t. Maybe one day, he hoped. One day. He knew that Brad knew that they weren’t a secret here. He also knew that Brad couldn’t let go that final bit of control.

He made it down the steps and back into the party, which had tapered down to a casual lull in the past however long he and Brad had been upstairs. He swiped an empty cup from the bench and filled it with a random clear liquid that smelled faintly of rum. Sam gestured him over, a look of urgency on her face. He walked over to her quickly. 

“I need to talk to you.”

He nodded at her to continue.

“Charlie just told me that his best friend shot himself. I don't think he has any friends,” she told him in a barely audible whisper. He looked around until his eyes landed on Charlie. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brad slip down the stairs. He swallowed, resolved.

“Everyone,” he called, raising his cup in the air, “raise your glasses to Charlie.”

Charlie’s neck snapped up at an almost deadly speed.

“What did I do?”

Patrick laughed, “You didn’t do anything, we just wanted to toast to our newest friend. You see things, Charlie. And you understand. _You_ are a wallflower.”

Charlie still looked scared, but he also looked frighteningly close to tears.

“What is it,” Patrick asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think people noticed me,” Charlie said, voice barely audible.

“Well we didn’t think there were any cool people left to meet. Everyone?”

They all chorused Patrick’s toast at the same time. Sam wandered up to them, smiling in that knowing way only Patrick really understood. He liked being the only one to understand people. That probably made him sound gross, or hipster, but it was true. He liked figuring them out.

“Welcome to the island of misfit toys,” Sam was saying to Charlie. Patrick smiled at the both of them. Maybe someday he would figure out Charlie. Maybe Sam would figure him out first. Patrick didn’t mind, not really. He just hoped they stayed together for years to come. Patrick, Sam, and Brad. And Alice and Mary Elizabeth, too. Charlie, if he wanted to. Patrick didn’t mind. Even Bob, if Patrick was feeling really nice. They were pretty alright, the wallflowers.

Patrick scanned the crowd for Brad once more. They made eye contact over the sea of people. Brad smiled, a small and secretive smile and tipped his head. He turned, and walked up the stairs. Patrick nodded to the empty space Brad had left before refocusing on Sam and Charlie.

Rain beat down on the roof, in a rhythm that sounded like the beating of their hearts.

—

Patrick was driving down highway 279 at a speed that was probably far higher than legal. The rain had eased from a heavy storm to a light drizzle. Sam was fiddling with the radio. She cranked the volume to almost deafening levels. The song playing wasn’t familiar.

 _I, I will be king_ _  
_ _And you, you will be queen_

“My God! What is this song?” Sam exclaimed, half yelling to be heard over the tinny sound of the radio.

“Right?” Patrick agreed, “I have no idea.”

 _Though nothing will drive them away_ _  
_ _We can beat them, just for one day_

“Charlie! Do you know this song?” Sam called.

“No. No idea.”

“Wait, we have to go through the tunnel.”

“Sam. It’s _freezing._ ”

“It’s the perfect song.”

“No. Mama Patrick says no.”

“Patrick, it’s Sam. It’s Sam talking to you, and I’m begging you to drive me through the tunnel.”

Patrick looked at Sam, at the clock, at Sam again. She tilted her head. Fuck.

“Alright,” he laughed, “I concede.”

The tunnel was nothing special, really, but it was their little kingdom. Their film moment. Coming of age. Indie. Sam crawled through the small window out of the cab and into the bed of the truck as the final line of the chorus rang out. Charlie looked at her in alarm before turning his panic to Patrick. He shrugged, looking at Charlie for a moment before refocusing on the road. The glow of the streetlights painted streaks across the wet ground. She stood, arms flung to the side, facing the wind and she smiled. And Patrick smiled too.

He looked over at Charlie, “What?”

“I feel… infinite.”

_We can be heroes, just for one day._

Sam shimmied through the cab window, out of the cool night and into the dull warmth of the truck. Her hair was stuck to her forehead from the rain. She didn’t care. The tunnel made them feel like teenagers. Alive. They didn’t have to worry about school, or relationships, or university. They could just drive, and feel the wind on their faces. It was their own little rebellion; Patrick would hold onto it with everything he had.

—

Sometimes, Patrick thought about how far they’ve come since junior year. It got better. They didn’t have to confine seeing each other to just weekends. Brad was practically a part of their group. Well, not ‘practically’, he was. Sam, Alice, Mary Elizabeth, they had all gotten used to his presence just as they had gotten used to Charlie’s. They liked him, which was something he had told Patrick he couldn’t understand.

Patrick understood enough for him.

He wasn’t sure how it started. Him and Brad. It was something to do with a party, because of course it was. They snuck around on weekends, fooling around with false courage built from amber coloured liquids that burned the backs of their throats.

Mondays always hurt, though. When Brad would pretend he didn’t remember anything. Patrick must have hated himself to deal with it for seven whole fucking months. Or maybe he just loved Brad.

He doesn’t really like to remember their first time, as sad as that sounds. It was perfect. Passionate. And when they finished together Patrick was certain he heard a choir singing gospel. Brad looked angelic in the post orgasm haze. He wanted to stay like that forever.

_“I love you,” Brad said, voice barely a whisper. Patrick smiled dopily._

_Brad’s eyes widened as his brain caught up with what he said. Tears welled up rapidly, slipping over to fall down his cheeks gracelessly. Patrick edged closer, unsure of himself. Brad let him, unmoving. He was frozen._

_“My dad’s going to kill me,” Brad hiccuped through the sobs wracking through his naked body, “I’m going to hell. You’re going to hell._ We’re _going to hell. You’re too good for the devil to destroy.”_

_Patrick ran soothing hands over Brad’s shoulders. He didn’t know what to say._

—

“Are you sad that you have to keep it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret, it’s survival. We’re fine. I’m sure it’s strange, to you, but we get it. We don’t have any other choice. I’m okay with it. Brad’s okay with it. We’ve come a long way.”

Charlie tilted his head, looking at Patrick without judgement, just curiosity, “how so?”

“He’s sober now. Simple as that. He doesn’t have to get drunk to love me.”

Patrick stood, a random book in hand and walked over to the tall, dark wood bookshelves. He waited around in the stacks, pretending to browse while watching the door out of his peripheral vision. The door opened. Brad entered and walked towards the stacks. Patrick walked down the aisle to the end of the stack. He walked along the passageway behind the bookshelves. Brad was walking towards him. They slowed as they reached each other, as if to speak. Patrick slipped a scrappily written love note into the pocket of Brad’s letterman jacket. They passed without a word.

—

Patrick would never stop loving acting in Rocky Horror. It was his own little secret gem. Just for him, and the wallflowers. He danced and sang his way over to Charlie in the front row, taking pleasure in making the kid flustered. He glanced over to where he knew Brad was sitting. He was laughing. Patrick was glad. Brad got jealous a lot. Ironic, considering how much Patrick had to deal with. He didn’t look jealous this time, though.

He walked back over to Mary Elizabeth, Sam and, unfortunately, Craig. Patrick knew that Sam was her own person, who could make her own decisions, but he wished she didn’t choose to date him. He never liked the guy. He was always creepily perving on Sam. Sam could do better. Even if he did have a loft. Without even saying a word, Brad always managed to drag him out of his head. Bitching about Craig would always be a pleasant use of his time, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from getting distracted. He tracked Brad with his eyes as he slipped through the door. He knew Brad would never admit it, but seeing Patrick dressed like this did something for him. Patrick grinned, caught up in the moment.

Being in Craig’s loft was never exactly fun, but he had wine and it was something to do. Patrick, Mary Elizabeth and Alice gossiped about Sam and Craig.

“So what do you think?” Alice asked.

“I don’t know,” Patrick replied, honestly. He really didn’t like Craig, but he liked Sam being happy. He wished Brad were there, but Craig wasn’t a wallflower. Not really. He and Brad were still a secret to anyone who wasn’t a wallflower. “I just hope she stops playing dumb with these guys. I keep telling her ‘don't make yourself small. You can't save anybody.’”

Patrick stopped talking and sat back, letting the other’s conversations wash over him. Craig changed the tape playing to something upbeat and shit. Patrick thought about Brad and the song didn’t seem so shit anymore.

—

Patrick stood next to Charlie as Mr. Callahan judged their clocks. He was bouncing on his feet in anticipation. He couldn’t wait to be done with this stupid class. Mr. Callahan wasn’t the type to sugar coat his words. Charlie’s clock is perfect. _Wait._ His dad made it, Patrick remembered with a grin. _Of course._ Charlie looked at Mr. Callahan, the picture of innocence.

“That’s pretty good, Charlie,” he said, handing him the grade sheet with a bright red ‘A’ on it.

He turned to look at Patrick’s. He was quite proud of how ugly he had managed to make it. The wood was cut lopsided and unstained. The mechanism was barely hanging on. It was a miracle it even worked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Patrick threw him a mischievous smile, “if you fail me, you get me next semester.”

He scrawled a grade onto Patrick’s own grade sheet and scowled before moving on. ‘C minus’.

Patrick keeps the form in his pocket for the rest of the school day. He, Sam and Charlie drive out to the overlook, spirits high. Patrick pulls the paper from his pocket and holds it up against the sky.

“C minus! It’s over! It’s all over! _Ladies and Gentlemen, I am below average!_ ”

Sam and Charlie shout along with him, jumping around. Below average. It was exhilarating.

—

They sat around Sam and Patrick’s living room, working through the Christmas presents, Mary Elizabeth was pulling pairs upon pairs of blue jeans out of a crinkled paper bag. Patrick was grinning from where he was sitting in Brad’s lap. Brad’s arms were wrapped tightly around his waist. He leant back into the hug. This was nice.

“Multiple pairs of blue jeans,” Mary Elizabeth said, “Wow. This is a really tough one, but I’m going to have to guess Alice.”

Alice smiled, jolting as Bob nudged her. She nodded towards the bag, a not so subtle hint to pull out the last thing. From the bag, Mary Elizabeth pulled out a receipt, just as crumpled as the bag itself.

“Wait, guys, a receipt! She actually paid!”

“Impossible!” Patrick called with a laugh.

“I’m so touched.”

They all laughed. Patrick wriggled until Brad let him go. He stood and headed into the kitchen to pour everyone a glass of brandy. Patrick returned with the drinks.

“Alright, who’s your secret santa, brother dear?” Sam asked him.

He pulled apart his gift and surveyed the contents. Brad pulled him back into his lap.

“I'll tell you, Sam. This one's tough. I have received a harmonica, a magnetic poetry set, a book about Harvey Milk, and a mix with the song _‘Asleep'_ on it. Twice,” he paused and watched as Charlie failed to keep it together. “I mean, I have no idea. This collection of presents is so _gay_ that I think I must have given them to myself. But despite that distinct possibility, I'm going to have to go with—drum roll—Charlie.”

Charlie held up his hand as he nodded. Brad pressed his face into Patrick’s back as he laughed silently. Patrick smiled, content.

“Your turn, Charlie,” Sam said. Charlie stood

“Okay. Uh, I have received socks, pants, a shirt, and a belt. I was ordered to wear them all tonight. So, I'm guessing my secret santa is Mary Elizabeth.”

Wrong. 

“Why do you say that?” Patrick asked, knowing full well that he was the one who got Charlie the presents.

“I dunno. She bosses people around sometimes.”

All of them, except Mary Elizabeth, laughed loudly.

“The hell is wrong with you, Charlie,” she snapped.

“Well you’ll be surprised to know your secret Santa is actually me,” Patrick said.

Charlie looked surprised, “Why did you get me clothes?”

Patrick looked at Charlie, raising his eyebrow, “Because all the great writers used to wear great suits. Your last present is on a towel rack in the bathroom. Delve into our facilities. Emerge a star.”

Charlie handed Sam a bag, “can you hand these out while I’m gone?”

Mary Elizabeth’s face scrunched, “Wait a second. There’s only secret Santa presents, that’s the rule, Charlie.”

Patrick looked at her, “Mary Elizabeth, why are you trying to eat Christmas? Hand ‘em out, Sam.”

Sam handed out the presents to Alice, Mary Elizabeth and Bob. She tossed Brad’s present to Patrick. They were all thoughtful, and so, _so_ Charlie. Alice got a book that he had written a sweet message in, Mary Elizabeth got enough money to print Punk Rocky. Bob, across the room, was blowing bubbles. Charlie knew them all well. Sam reads the card attached to the record he got her and looks like she’s close to tears.

Brad tore into the envelope callously, Charlie had gotten him a card with forty dollars in it, like the one he got for Mary Elizabeth, but this card said _‘Take Patrick for milkshakes sometime. Hopefully this is enough to pay for gas out of town.’_

Patrick nearly burst into tears right there. Brad pressed a soft kiss to the skin just below his ear.

“I will,” he whispered.

Patrick cleared his throat and blinked to clear away the tears.

“Come on out, Charlie!” Sam called.

Charlie re-entered the room, dressed in the new suit. He looked exactly how Patrick had planned for him to. Like a fancy writer man from the 60s. They all clapped lightly.

“Yes, Charlie! What a display of man!”

There was only laughter and high spirits in the room following that moment. Patrick would never need anything more than this feeling. Being surrounded by his friends, his boyfriend, the people he cares more about than anyone else in the world.

Sometime later in the evening Sam and Charlie disappear upstairs. Brad eventually lets Patrick crawl off of his lap, if only to pull him close into his side. Patrick burrowed in closer. It was warm inside, a stark contrast to the cold, blue night outside.

He smiled.

The night wound down slowly.

Mary Elizabeth and Alice left together, disappearing into the night with a joint “Merry Christmas!”.

Bob followed soon after, leaving without a word, still extremely baked. Patrick and Sam stood under the yellow light of their outdoor porch light globe as they saw Charlie off.

“Have a good time at your mum’s,” Charlie said to him, quietly.

Patrick tossed a glance over his shoulder, looking at Sam and Brad talking softly in the doorway.

“Thanks. And Charlie, since you were born on Christmas Eve, I figure you don't get a lot of birthday presents. So, I thought you should have my clock. From the heart, you know?”

Charlie grinned at Patrick, pulling him into a tight hug, “Thank you.”

—

Patrick never claimed to be a saint. He watched as his friends got dosed with LSD. Normally, he’d be all for it, but today it felt different. Brad wasn’t here. He always tried to slip into wallflower parties when he could but this time the football goons were making him go to one of their own New Year’s parties.

Patrick missed him. He felt stupid, and clingy, but it was true. He missed him. It was almost midnight. No chance of him showing up.

Patrick was wallowing by himself in the corner, nursing the same beer he’d had since the party started. 

_11:55_

Some shit song was playing through the boombox and he wasn’t feeling it. The beer was slowly warming in his hand and he wasn’t feeling it. He kept eyeing the door like Brad would miraculously walk in, and he really wasn’t feeling it.

_11:58_

Bob had asked him to lead the countdown, but he wasn’t feeling it. He drank the last few drops from his bottle, licking the last drop of condensation from the neck, but he wasn’t feeling it. The door stayed firmly closed, he really, _really_ wasn’t feeling it.

_11:59_

Thirty seconds to go. Patrick hated 1993 already. Twenty seconds to go. Patrick turned his back to the door.

“Ten,” he called, “nine, eight.”

There was a tap on his shoulder. _Seven._ He turned slowly. _Six._ He stood toe to toe with Brad. _Five._ Brad’s face twisted into a rueful smile, ‘sorry’, he mouthed. _Four._ Patrick smiled. _Three, Two._ Brad leaned down, ignoring the noise of the other wallflowers around them and pressed his lips to Patrick’s. Soft, sweet, chaste. _One._

Patrick broke the kiss, keeping one arm wrapped around Brad’s neck.

“Happy New Year!” He called, before dragging Brad back into a kiss.

“Happy New Year!” Came a chorus of drunk, teenage voices around him.

Maybe 1993 wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

—

The green room was always uncomfortably warm, but at least their costumes didn’t have a lot of fabric. It felt even warmer though, at that moment. Craig wasn’t there. Patrick was applying lipstick, half listening to Brad and Charlie talk about LSD. 

“What are we supposed to do? We’re on in 10!” Mary Elizabeth said, voice higher as she ran around in a panic. Her phone ringing cut through her hysteria.

“Charlie, you’re fine, man,” Brad was saying. Patrick smiled, even as he worried about the Craig situation.

“Emergency. Craig flaked on us. I need a Rocky,” Mary Elizabeth paused and turned to Brad, hopeful.

“No way. Absolutely not. There are _people_ out there.”

Patrick grinned, simpering, “I dunno, babe, I reckon you’d look hot.”

Brad flushed but still shook his head. Patrick pouted. He loped over to where Brad was sitting next to Charlie and flopped onto his lap, arms hooking behind his neck.

“Well that ruins my fantasies,” he teased, pressing a red kiss to Brad’s neck.

“Patrick,” Brad said warningly, “I have to go back out there.”

“Good thing I have lipstick on then, isn’t it? If they see it, they’ll think one of the girls did it.”

“Charlie,” Mary Elizabeth said, cutting into their moment, “take off your clothes.”

Patrick grinned. This was going to be good.

The performance passed in a blur of familiar movements and bright lights. Charlie looked like he was going to pass out the entire time. Patrick located Brad in the crowd, as he did every time. He watched as he slipped into the seats from the green room and smiled.

The winter air was cold, a stark contrast to the burning warmth inside. Patrick watched as the crowd spilled out into the night, eyes scanning for Brad. They couldn’t walk home together, or even talk, but if they happened to be walking the same way, well, Patrick would just wait until they were alone.

He glanced to the side and saw Mary Elizabeth and Charlie talking at her car. Huh. That didn’t seem like it’d last.

He walked slowly with Sam, down the snowy road. Behind him, he heard countless sets of footsteps behind him. He knew that he and Sam and Brad would turn off and be the only three remaining. He could wait until then.

Their street was coming up. Sam smiled at him softly, black mascara smudges still faintly visible under her eyes.

“I’ll walk ahead.”

He smiled at her gratefully. Sure, he’d seen Brad a lot more recently but soon Brad would have to hang back. Spend his time with the football assholes. He was selfish. He wanted to capitalize all of Brad’s time. But he didn’t have the same rights to be selfish as a girl would. So he took what he could get.

Sam and Patrick turned into the adjacent street. Patrick slowed down to an almost complete stop, waiting in the biting wind for his boyfriend. Brad’s thundering footsteps were hard to miss, muted by the snow as they were.

“Hey,” he panted.

“Hi.”

They started walking, shoulders brushing together with every second step. They couldn’t risk holding hands, as much as they wanted to.

It was quiet. Nice. They didn’t really need to talk anymore. The silence was sweet. Before, when they had only just started sneaking around, Patrick felt the uncontrollable urge to fill the silence. If they weren’t kissing, Patrick was talking. It worked for them, though. Patrick liked being able to talk to Brad about anything. Sometimes, even still, he was surprised that he could; they didn’t look like they’d have anything in common, but they just _did_. 

Patrick did, inevitably, break the silence.

“What’d you think?” He asked softly.

“It was good,” Brad replied with a small grin, “you always are.”

Patrick flushed heavily. He blamed it on the cold air.

Sam was waiting on their porch. With a glance up and down the street, Patrick pulled Brad into a quick hug. He walked up the steps and joined her. She unlocked the door, pushed it open and walked into the dark house. Patrick threw a look over his shoulder as he stepped inside. Brad was walking backwards down the street, watching Patrick enter. He turned around after they made eye contact one more time.

—

Crowded House was playing over the speakers. That sucky song, Don’t Dream It’s Over. Patrick was dancing with Sam, of course. He couldn’t stomach trying to actually ask a girl to go with him. That was a little too close to lying for his tastes. Patrick would rather coast by on a lie of omission. His eyes were trained on Brad across the hall. He wasn’t even surprised, at this point, at how easy it was for him to pick Brad out of a crowd. Sometimes he worried he was too dependent.

Brad was dancing with the cheerleader from the last school dance. Patrick wasn’t jealous. He just didn’t exactly _like_ when Brad danced with her. But it was expected of him. He had to. Patrick understood. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

The dance was boring, as they had expected. It wasn’t long before Patrick broke away from Sam, leading them both to the outskirts. Sam wandered off to talk to Charlie.

Patrick watched with building interest. Everything Charlie was doing would crash and burn around him and Patrick was going to have to pick up the pieces.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

—

Bob’s house was empty of party guests for once. Patrick didn’t know where his parents were, but they never seemed to be home. He wasn’t complaining. The wallflowers (the ones that mattered) were all sat in a loose circle. Patrick felt something similar to how he imagined the sleepover of preteen girls felt

“I dare you to kiss Alice,” Bob said, eyeing Brad with surprisingly clear eyes. Today, instead of weed, he was indulging in mischief.

Patrick made a show of wettening his lips, shuffling to the centre of the circle.

“Get ready, breeder.”

“Can’t be a breeder when you’re a lesbian,” Alice said, though she still looked more than a little apprehensive.

He heard Craig and Mary Elizabeth start a conversation, but he generally tried to drown out Craig so he paid little mind to it.

“Excuse me, everyone, but you’re about to miss some insanely hot ‘fag on goth’ action over here.”

Brad almost growled, but his eyes remained transfixed on Patrick’s side profile.

Patrick leans in slowly. Alice surges forward and locks their lips in the grossest kiss he’d ever been a part of. There was no tongue, there was no wandering hands. It was boring and yet totally, totally disgusting.

Brad pulled him closer when he finally detached from Alice, subtle jealousy evident by the way his fingers tightened at Patrick’s hip. Patrick pivoted, swinging his leg over Brad’s hip to straddle him. 

“No need to be jealous, baby, need I remind you who I’m with?” 

“Take it upstairs, loverboy” Sam says, rolling her eyes. 

Patrick crawls off of Brad, laughing easily. He looked around the circle, laughter dying in his throat, as he saw Brad rise. He locks eyes with Sam for a moment, before scrambling to his feet to follow Brad. 

“Well then. Hate to cut a party short, but I apparently have greater business elsewhere. Feel free to show yourselves out.”

“It’s not even your house, dumbass,”

“The point still stands. Bob, are we still allowed to use the spare room?”

“Yeah, just clean up after yourselves.”

“When don’t we?” Patrick winked.

Brad thread their fingers together and began to pull him across the room. 

Sam rolled her eyes again and began to stand also, “C’mon, Charlie, I’ll drive you home.”

“What about Patrick?”

“Brad can drive him.”

“Wait, wait, my turn?” Patrick asked the room at large. Most of them nodded. Bob wasn’t keeping track. Sam sat back down. Patrick dragged Brad back closer to the circle.

“Hm. Charlie. Truth or dare?”

The kid had zoned out. Patrick waited a second and asked again.

“Charlie? Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Patrick grinned, “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room on the lips. Notice I charitably said _girl_ and not person because, let's face it, I'd smoke all you bitches.”

Alice reached up to whack him on the arm, Brad squeezed Patrick’s hand, just once, but Patrick wanted to see where this would go. He hoped it wouldn’t crash and burn like he feared it would.

Charlie slowly turned to Mary Elizabeth, but something flickered over his face that just looked _wrong_. He looked like he would rather set himself on fire than kiss his girlfriend. He pressed a light, closed mouth kiss to her mouth. It was the kind of kiss that sexually repressed church-going fourteen year olds shared. Something similar to hurt crossed Mary Elizabeth’s face.

“Charlie?”

“I never wanted to date you, I’ve always liked someone else,” he said, eyes flicking over to Sam for a split second. Just long enough to be noticeable. He clapped a hand over his mouth after the final word left his mouth, eyes widened in shock and shame

A horrible, lingering silence fell over the group. He was right. It went horribly.

“Now, that was a bit fucked up,” Patrick said, the mood with Brad evaporated.

Charlie was spewing out apologies that fell on deaf ears as Mary Elizabeth, Alice and Sam left the room.

“I- I didn’t mean to.”

Patrick lay a hand on Charlie’s knee, “I know you didn't, but look, there's a history with Mary Elizabeth and Sam. Other guys. Things that have nothing to do with you, but it's best if you just stay away for a while.”

He stays silent when Charlie asks how long. It was going to be a long time.

—

They were just kissing. Nothing more. It wasn’t even particularly hot and heavy. They were on Brad’s bed, the only light coming from the lamp on his bedside table. Patrick was pressed against the headboard with Brad between his legs. His hands were in his hair, Brad’s were firmly cupping his jaw. They had the night together, just for each other. Brad’s dad wasn’t supposed to be back until the morning. They were supposed to be safe. Supposed to be. Everything was supposed to be perfect. It wasn’t going to be their first time, not by a long shot, but they were still supposed to _have_ the time for one another.

But everything went to shit. The door flew open. The light flicked on. And then—what was perhaps the scariest thing—it was silent. For five long, terrifying seconds Brad’s dad stared at them. Brad had scrambled off of Patrick but the damage was done. Then the yelling started.

Brad’s dad wrenched him off of the bed, fisted a hand in the collar of his shirt and yelled until his face was red. It wasn’t long before he reeled back and punched Brad in the face. Patrick let out a shriek.

“Don’t you fucking hurt him! Don’t you hurt him!”

Brad’s dad threw more and more punches at him, harder and harder. Brad’s face was a mess of blood and red blooming patches. His nails were scratching at his dad’s back, clawing at him, trying to push him off.

“Stop! You’re killing him. You’re going to kill him! Please!” 

Patrick heard himself yelling, not processing what he was doing but acting on an instinct. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do in a situation like that. He didn’t feel strong enough to stop it. Brad’s dad has stood up now, and was kicking his son in the stomach. He felt powerless.

“Patrick just-” Brad was interrupted by another kick to the gut. “Just get out! Leave!”

Patrick didn’t know what to do. So he ran. He ran up the stairs, down the hall and out the front door. And he didn’t stop. He kept running until he made it to Kings. And then he sat on the dirty curb out the front, and put his head between his knees. He felt sick. He leaned to the left and emptied his guts on the cold, unforgiving pavement.

He felt cold and unforgivable too.

—

Patrick watched as Brad pressed a slow kiss to the blonde cheerleader’s lips. Patrick slammed his locker closed a little harder than necessary. He tried to school his face into a neutral expression as he walked down the hall.

At the end of the hall Charlie reached out to stop him.

“Are you okay?”

“Not now, Charlie. Sorry. Not now.”

—

The cafeteria was loud, snippets of conversations overlapping and fighting to be heard over the racket. Patrick grabbed his tray and began to walk back to where Sam, Mary Elizabeth and Alice were sitting. Reflexively, he looked for Charlie before he remembered that he had to forget him. For now, at least. It wasn’t fair, what he did to Mary Elizabeth. Patrick hadn’t thought he had it in him, in all honesty, to be cruel like that. It wasn’t his fault, the lingering hurt between Mary Elizabeth and Sam, but he shouldn’t have lied to Mary Elizabeth. Not for so long.

“Hi, Nothing,” one of the English class twins that he still hadn’t bothered to learn the name of called to him, mocking. He’d thought they would have given that up by now. Clearly not.

He shut his eyes for a brief second, pausing where he walked before carrying on. If he just ignored them, it’d stop eventually. Around the halfway point between his table and the lunch line was where Brad and the rest of the idiot jocks sat. As much as Patrick’s body ached to see if Brad was okay, he knew he had to keep walking.

Brad’s dumb jock crony—one of the ones he didn’t like but still hung out with—laughed and stuck out his leg. Patrick didn’t react in time and stumbled over it. He fell to the ground, his side colliding hard with a chair leg and his tray pinned beneath his body.

“Oops. Sorry, Nothing,”

He groaned, pushing himself up. Somehow, he smiled to himself. This was it. Once and for all. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Patrick hoped desperately that Brad cared about him enough to throw his reputation to the wind. Sure, maybe that made him a bad person, to want his partner to give up the thing that kept them safe but he was only human. He wanted Brad to. He knew he wouldn’t.

“You gonna do anything?” He asked, looking at Brad.

A flicker of fear and remorse crossed Brad’s eyes. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. 

Brad turned to the two football players.

“Don’t.”

Or maybe he would. When Patrick looked again, something had changed behind Brad’s eyes. Some switch in his brain. Something like _fuck it. Fuck it, my dad’s already beaten me to a pulp. Come Sunday morning everyone will know that I’m a_ faggot _so fuck it_. Patrick knew they’d be okay.

They looked at him, confusion written across their faces.

“What, you sticking up for the fag now? You some kind of faggot, too?” One of them asked, the line backer maybe.

Brad’s jaw clenched, “He isn’t ‘Nothing’. He has never been, and he never will be _nothing_. Because even if he means shit to you, even if you try to beat on him because you’re a scared, stupid little boy with fragile masculinity, he will still be worth more than you could ever be. Beating him up because he’s weird, or a ‘fag’, will not make your daddy love you again. And yeah, I’m fucking gay, I’ve sucked more dick than your girlfriend at a glory hole. There are worse things in this world to fear than a high school has been. You know what, dude, I _wasn’t_ jumped by a couple of kids in a parking lot. But you already suspected that, didn’t you. Why would any kid in _this town_ jump _me?_ It had to have been something more than that, something deeper. And it was. I have seen hell, buddy, and it’s far scarier than you are.”

Patrick put his hand on Brad’s shoulder. Brad looked at him. The tension drained from his body. The line backer stood, a picture of fury. He reeled back and punched Brad in the face. Snarling like a dog as Brad hit the floor, hand cupping his cheek where his cuts had reopened. He scrambled to his feet, not quite fast enough to stop Patrick from letting out a yell and tackling the footballer.

“Patrick!” Brad said loudly, voice bordering on a scream with the fear evident immediately, “I don't know what kind of shit you're trying to pull but you’ve got to walk away. He’ll fucking kill you!”

“Stop being scared, babe,” Patrick said with a breathless grin. He was terrified, under the guise of calm, “time to dance with the demons.”

The other football player at the table, the wide receiver, probably, stood, looking between Patrick and his buddy fighting on the ground, and Brad. He took a menacing step forward. Brad sighed.

“Fuck it.”

He lunged for the wide receiver. Over the sound of the brawl breaking out they heard Mary Elizabeth scream, “It’s Patrick!”

“And Brad?” Alice added, also teetering on a scream.

It felt like he was on the outside, watching his body move. Watching himself fight alongside Brad.

“No! No!” He heard Sam yell. He saw her run into the circle. The wide receiver pushed her out again, knocking her to the ground. Brad let out an angry yell before Patrick could even react and scrambled for the footballer with renewed vigour.

In the blink of an eye, from one punch to the next, the line backer was pulled off of him. He looked up and saw Charlie punch him in the face. He hit the ground and he hit it hard. Blood was pouring from his nose like water from a leaking tap. He stayed down. The wide receiver had abandoned his fight with Brad to go for Charlie. Patrick took the opportunity to creep over to Brad. He intertwined their fingers and pulled their hands into his lap.

“You okay?” He muttered. Brad nodded, almost imperceptibly. He was sure they were being watched, but by this point he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Reaching up to sweep a lock of his brown, floppy hair from his face, Patrick looked into Brad’s eyes, “it’s gonna be a lot harder for you, now, you know that right?”

He nodded again.

“I know,” he whispered. Something in Patrick’s heart shattered. He loved Brad so much. So much. Nothing would ever be the same for him. For them. But at least they would be okay. Patrick isn’t sure what he would have done if Brad had left him to fend for himself today, or worse, if Brad had sided with his teammates.

Patrick knew he was scared. Fuck, Patrick was scared too, but knowing they could do it together made everything just a little bit brighter.

When they looked up, they saw that Charlie had knocked the wide receiver down, too. Sam finally broke free from where Mary Elizabeth and Alice were holding her back. She ran over to Patrick and Brad, crouching beside them and looking over their bruises. Both football players were laying on the dirty floor, looking at Charlie in silence, afraid.

They heard Charlie speak to them, voice icily calm, “If you touch my friends again, I’ll blind you.”

Finally, a teacher decided to intervene. A bit late, really.

—

Charlie and Brad were sent to the principal’s office, the footballers had to report to the principal too, but they were sent to the nurse first. It made no sense that Brad and Patrick weren’t, but then again they were the gay ones. They were probably the ones that would get expelled. Patrick sat outside the principal’s office and waited for them. Sam wanted to, too, but Patrick had asked to be alone.

The door opened, Charlie and Brad walked out in an almost solemn silence. Patrick was just in ear shot, though he doubted Brad meant for him to be, when Brad reached out to stop Charlie.

“Thanks for stopping them,” he said softly, eyes full of gratitude, “I can only imagine what they would have done to him if I weren’t there. Or worse. What I would have done if I were more afraid.”

Charlie nodded, “I understand, Brad. I’m glad you didn’t let that fear stop you. And that you didn’t let it hurt Patrick.”

Brad smiled at him, tired and resigned. “Me too.” 

Patrick watched as he looked away from Charlie. His smile changed when he finally noticed Patrick waiting. Patrick smiled back.

They deserved a bit of happiness, now.

—

It was another sunset and Patrick felt more alone in Charlie’s company than he ever had. He had a revelation in the purple haze of dusk.

“Oh my god. My life is officially an after school special. One that’s masquerading as progressive, but it’s only gay couple get beaten to a pulp. Son of a bitch!”

Charlie laughed in agreement. He was less nervous than when they had first met, but he still looked like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh. They reach the lookout point. Memories of his C minus flooded back. They sat together for a bit, quietly passing rumours they’d heard back and forth. Charlie’s were a bit shit.

Until Patrick started to tell him what happened with Brad’s dad. He didn’t really mean to. The kid just had a trustable face. Patrick trailed off, sadness overcoming him. He knew that he and Brad were fine, and would be fine, but he didn’t know if he could forgive himself for just leaving him.

“Why can’t you save anybody?” Patrick asked, a tear slipping down his cheek and splattering on his hands in his lap.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said softly.

Patrick looks at him for a long moment, “You’re a good kid, Charlie.”

Charlie smiles at him.

Footsteps echo as two people walk up the path to the lookout. Brad and Sam. They were surprisingly close. Patrick smiled at them.

Brad walked up to him and pressed their foreheads together for a moment before pushing his face into the top of Patrick’s head, using his standing height to his advantage.

“Hey.”

“Hi, babe.”

Patrick felt Brad smile.

“Tunnel?” Sam asked.

Patrick nodded, standing. He pulled Brad into a quick, meaningful kiss. It said _I love you._ It said _we’re okay._ It said _you mean everything to me._ Brad understood.

—

The seats of the truck were cold. The four of them had to squish together to fit in the small cab. It was okay though. Charlie had turned the radio on, tuning into the same radio station that had played the song they’d loved so much. Sam was driving for once. Patrick hated it, but he wanted to stand in the tunnel. He and Brad, and nothing else but the wind.

They fly down the highway. Brad helps Patrick crawl through the window first. He follows after, shutting the window behind him. Charlie would open it again to let them back in soon enough.

They sat together in the bed of the truck, the rapidly darkening night sky playing against their features.

“I think we’re going to be infinite,” Patrick said, barely audible above the roar of the wind.

“I think I’d like that,” Brad replied.

Patrick leaned over to kiss him, then. They kissed until the darkness of the tunnel overcame them. Charlie opened the window again, not to let them in but to let the song flow out. Their song, the four of them now.

Patrick stood, leaning down to grasp Brad’s hand and haul him up as the mouth of the tunnel widened for their approach.

The wind blasted them but they didn’t care. Brad drew him into a kiss, leaning their legs against the cold metal of the car. He kept one hand pressed to the roof of the cab, steadying them. 

_We could be heroes._

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out on tumblr @gaylupin !! comments and kudos are loved and appreciated !!!


End file.
